


The Welcome Oxymoron

by Snappy_Snippets



Series: The Language of Occlumency [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Era, Legilimency, M/M, Occlumency, POV Voldemort, Slash, featuring a very composed Draco and a seriously arrogant Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 19:32:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5797072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snappy_Snippets/pseuds/Snappy_Snippets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort is in need of a new information source and finds himself most pleased by the new tool he reaches for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Welcome Oxymoron

**Author's Note:**

> Just a friendly warning: if you haven't read the previous episodes in the series, this story is going to have a completely different reading from the one you get if you have.

Voldemort leaned back in the armchair, his left hand dangling over the side. Nagini's head rose to his left, settling on the armrest and he stroked it absent-mindedly. Her heavy body slithered lazily around his ankles, her tail stretched dangerously close to the gaping marble fireplace in front of them. Her tongue darted out and she hissed lowly.

 _'I am pleased to see you content, Nagini,'_ he hissed back in Parseltongue.

 _'Heat,'_ Nagini hissed, _'Master's hand.'_

Voldemort brushed his knuckles over her smooth, silky scales and felt her twist, pressing against his hand. After years of being deprived of a corporeal vessel, one grew to truly appreciate the power that came with touch. He looked back at the fire.

 _'I myself am far from content, however,'_ he said.

 _'Why, Master?'_ Nagini hissed, raising her head.

He sighed.

 _'I have everything required to make this world mine, Nagini,'_ he said quietly. _'Yet time and time again my plans are thwarted because of the incompetence of those whose sole purpose should be to do my bidding,'_ he glanced back at the two men standing rigidly on either side of the heavy door in the far corner of the drawing room. _'They are blind. They cannot see how weak those who oppose us are, how inconsequential... Held together only by their misguided faith in a boy who once got lucky, who rose to be who he is on their admiration, not on the mastery of the art that is magic,'_ he grimaced. _'How pathetic. Without their beacon, without their symbol, they will crumble. They do not know the meaning of true power, true might.'_

Nagini's head had slithered into his lap and he found the heavy weight of her body comforting. 

_'Knowledge,'_ she hissed and he nodded.

 _'Indeed. Knowledge is power. And we require more of it from the very source,'_ he wrapped his fingers around Nagini's head and stroke the underside.

 _'The children's castle?'_ she hissed.

Voldemort turned his head towards the door, his sight reaching past the flickering shadows cast by the fire.

'Dolohov,' he called, letting his voice dance from wall to wall.

With the corner of his eye, Voldemort saw the man jerk forward and approach shakily. Dolohov stopped in the middle of the room, a good distance away, his eyes downcast.

'My Lord,' he said hoarsely.

Voldemort's fingers flexed around Nagini's head. 

'Bring the Malfoy heir to me,' he said.

'Yes, My Lord.'

Dolohov kept his head bowed and retreated backwards a few steps before turning around and moving quickly out of the room.

Voldemort sighed.

_'Look at them, Nagini. My own ranks are plagued with the disease of weakness. While I need servants unafraid to work towards the future which awaits us.'_

_'Severus,'_ Nagini hissed.

_'Yes. Severus is a loyal servant. Yet his insight goes only as far as Dumbledore allows. His story is known, the old man is bound to distrust him. We shall attempt to use a source more inconspicuous, unburdened by the past.'_

The door opened with a loud creak and the room filled with the sound of a single pair of confident footsteps. Voldemort scowled, registering Dolohov, who closed the door and moved to his previous position beside it.

The boy approached quickly and stopped only once he'd reached the close vicinity of the fireplace.

'My Lord,' the boy said in a clear, loud voice.

Nagini hissed contentedly and Voldemort patted her, urging her to move. She slithered down, uncoiling her body from around his legs and circled the armchair to move closer to the boy.

Voldemort stood up and turned around.

The boy was down on one knee, his head bowed. His long black cape, tied below his neck with an ornate silver clasp, pooled around him on the floor and revealed the black shirt he was wearing underneath, its sleeves rolled up, leaving the Mark in full view. The red pattern was still strikingly fresh, contrasting with the boy's young, smooth pale skin in a startling way. Voldemort had grown used to his brand being displayed on old, wrinkled or unhealthily sallow skin and he suddenly realised the view before him pleased him immensely. The boy's white blond hair looked much better cared for than his father's and was slicked back, with a few loose strands which fell towards his face, obscuring it as the boy's eyes were still firmly directed at the floor.

Voldemort took a step towards him. 

'Rise,' he said and the boy stood up in one swift move, the cape billowing around him.

Voldemort approached him slowly, starting to circle him, looking for even the slightest change in his confident posture; a flinch of his shoulders, a twinge of his mouth, the tension or twitching of a muscle.

None came.

The boy stood with his back straight, his arms along his sides, his chin raised. He had the same silvery grey eyes as his father, but they didn't roam and fall to his feet with fearful anticipation. Instead, they stared ahead and burned with cold determination, unwavering focus and complete readiness.

'Leave us,' Voldemort called, waving his hand dismissively towards the door and the two men disappeared quickly, the door creaking closed behind them.

For a moment, as Voldemort stopped to the side of the boy, the only sounds in the room were the gentle crackling of the fire and the glide of Nagini's heavy body on the stone floor as she moved in lazy circles around both of them. Voldemort listened for the boy's breath, but his chest was rising and falling at a steady pace.

Voldemort found himself even more mesmerised by the sight before him.

'Draco,' he said, letting the word roll on his tongue slowly.

'My Lord,' the boy repeated and Voldemort was pleased to hear the pride in his tone of voice.

'I am considering granting you a great privilege,' Voldemort said as he started moving around the boy again.

'Thank you, My Lord. I will do everything I can to prove myself worthy,' the boy answered, his voice steady, even.

Voldemort looked at the back of the boy's head. _You can start now,_ he thought, slithering into the boy's mind. Wordless, wandless Legilimency with no eye contact was one of the skills he most prided himself on.

The boy's mind proved to be an open book, letting Voldemort slip inside undetectably. He felt around and was instantly hit by the boy's strong devotion to his family, their values and heritage. There was an unwavering loyalty there, but not a blind one. It seemed to be based on the conviction that they were standing on the right side.

Voldemort kept a strong, but untraceable hold on the boy's mind.

'Are you willing to work for my cause, Draco?'

'I am, My Lord.'

_Confidence; a library, summer heat pooling in through the window, scattered quills and parchments, heavy leather-bound books, Magick Moste Evile, Particularly Potent Poisons, dedication, concentration._

'And what cause is that?'

'Returning the power to those who deserve it, My Lord.'

 _Slytherin dormitories, boys sniggering,_ finally AK all this scum, _accord, camaraderie, pride; a forest, a view through the trees, people running in the distance, screaming, relaxation, mirth, flashes of green light, a girl's hard eyes,_ if you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are _, a red-head lunging forward, glee._

'How do you believe you can aid this cause?'

'In any way you see fit, My Lord.'

Voldemort stopped in front of the boy and their eyes met. The hard, determined look the boy gave him made him realize how much he had missed this kind of dedication. Young, brave, untainted by fear. 

'Am I correct in assuming you have received training in Occlumency?' Voldemort asked.

'I have, My Lord,' the boy answered proudly.

Voldemort smiled inwardly. If the boy had only known his mind was being read at that very moment... Nevertheless, a much lower level of skill was bound to be enough to protect oneself from attacks from Dumbledore's incompetent followers, constricted by their naive notion of 'good'.

Voldemort looked into the boy's eyes, letting him think he was about to cast the spell.

'Show me.'

In an instant, he felt the boy's mind go blank and he let himself be pushed out almost entirely, teetering at the very edge of the boy's consciousness. The reaction was swift and effortless, the features of the boy's face remaining unchanged, his focus unquivering. 

'Well done, Draco,' Voldemort praised, moving around the boy once again. He felt the resistance in the boy's mind falter and promptly slipped back in.

'Thank you, My Lord,' the boy replied. 'I received instruction from my aunt.'

 _Anticipation, heavy breathing, a shrill cackle,_ yes, my impenetrable nephew, again!, _the swish of a wand cutting though air._

'Bellatrix taught you well, then,' Voldemort nodded. 'You have not trained with Severus, however?'

'No, My Lord,' the boy answered and his mind was flooded with eagerness at the idea.

'If I choose to entrust you with the task, you will.'

Voldemort felt the boy smile.

'Yes, My Lord.'

Ah, it felt good to have at one's disposal someone so thirsty for knowledge, for magical skill. With proper guidance, this boy might prove to be an invaluable asset in the fight to restore balance to the world. 

'Tell me, Draco... how close are you to the Potter boy and his sorry entourage?'

'Close enough to keep careful watch of the enemy. Far enough not to get soaked in the scum's stench,' the boy spat.

 _Potter in Defence Against the Dark Arts class, casting spells with practised ease, resentment; the Great Hall, Potter's annoyed face, sniggering,_ actually fainted, _amusement, maliciousness, joy._

'Good. You strike a healthy balance,' Voldemort said, circling again to stand in front of the boy.

With Potter now at the forefront of the boy's mind, random memories of him flashed under Voldemort's hold in quick succession.

 _A Hogwarts corridor, a group of students sneaking, the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, a door disappearing, annoyance, plotting; a round shape, a flash of red, a flash of green,_ Potter stinks, _spite; a crowd, young Potter in the middle, people watching, satisfaction, resolve,_ scared?, _a snake hissing, someone gasping, pride; older Potter, striding confidently through the castle corridors, guarded from each side by a devoted army of followers, loathing; Gargoyle Corridor, Potter and Dumbledore, disappearing up the round staircase, irritation, hatred._

Voldemort withdrew. It seemed that Potter was, above all, well protected. It would, perhaps, be wise to target the old man and young Malfoy could prove useful when the time came, but for now, collecting information was a priority. And for this, the boy would be the perfect tool. There was an apparent history of animosity between him and Potter, a rivalry which would make spying appear as searching for opportunity to childishly prank. There was, in fact, a remarkable focus on the Potter boy in young Malfoy, an extraordinary amount of attention, it seemed, combined with a need to outdo him. To an ignorant mind, this sort of scrutiny might have seemed at odds with the hatred that permeated the boy's thoughts. Seeing this as a contradiction was simplistic, however. Paying close attention to one's enemy was the best way to gain the knowledge necessary to defeat him. Voldemort was satisfied to see young Malfoy understood this very well.

He stepped towards the boy, wrapping his hand around the thin marked forearm.

'You will keep careful watch of Potter, of Dumbledore and whoever else helps or protects him,' he said. 'You will follow, look, notice, listen. You will never stop. No matter how insignificant their actions may seem, you will remember them and report to me once a month. If you see anything out of the ordinary,' he tightened his grip and pressed his thumb against the Mark, his long nail digging into the skin as the colour of the pattern changed from red to black, 'you will contact me immediately. Is that understood?'

The boy held his forearm steady, his chin raised, his eyes never breaking contact, the look in them fiery and proud. Then a wide evil grin spread on his face.

'Perfectly, My Lord.'

Voldemort nodded and released the boy, stepping back.

'You will begin advanced Occlumency training with Severus as soon as you come back to Hogwarts. You may leave now.'

The boy dropped to one knee again, bowing his head, then stood up, turned around and strode out of the room, his cloak billowing behind him.

When the door creaked closed, Voldemort was back in the armchair and Nagini was wrapping herself around his legs once again, her head coming to rest on his knee.

 _'Content, Master?'_ she hissed.

 _'Quite,'_ he replied. _'Quite content indeed.'_

**Author's Note:**

> Just one more episode to go! Hmm... whose POV haven't we seen in this series yet...? :)


End file.
